


Agent exchange

by Hypatia_66



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Challenge Response, Community: section7mfu, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Separations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-15 17:38:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16937721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: needle, book, blue.Have Illya’s comments have gone too far, even for Napoleon?





	1. Chapter 1

A partnership that was heading for the rocks was an occasional though far from rare problem in UNCLE, given the stresses of the job. Those involved, being mainly men, either fought it out successfully in the gym, under controlled supervision, or they talked to a psychologist, one with experience of couples counselling, and worked through it that way.

Spotting the signs before it got into that state, but more especially when it had become too toxic even for fighting or counselling – that was the problem.

Napoleon’s request for three weeks’ accumulated leave – to recuperate, he said – without telling anyone, including Illya, where he was going, was the first inkling that something was wrong. And when at the end of the three weeks, Illya had already left for London on a trial agent-exchange, it seemed the partnership might be over.

<><><> 

 

Illya was furious. “Oh, Napoleon! You’ve done it again!”

Napoleon made no response to the continuing rant; he never did. Usually Illya didn’t notice or expect it but there was something different this time about Napoleon’s silence. Illya stopped abruptly and glanced at his partner.

Napoleon was slumped in his seat looking out at the passing scene. All the complaints and criticisms Illya had ever uttered were going round and round in his head, like a deafening chorus, magnified by the new ones.

_I should have known who it was when I saw you trip over your own feet._

_You’re five minutes late!_

_Your accent is just awful._

_She probably thought the dummy was you._

_It’s a good thing you didn’t become a surgeon._

_… bungled in your usual manner_

Napoleon’s sanguine tolerance of his partner’s often quite bitchy remarks was beginning to falter. From being mere banter, the criticisms now sometimes bordered on contempt and he was beginning to find it difficult to ignore them. They often hurt. Did Illya _mean_ to humiliate and belittle him? Napoleon knew he was respected by everyone else and well-liked – far better-liked than his partner, in fact – and he knew he handled the job well. So why did Illya needle him all the time?

Their unique bond, hitherto strong, was weakening. Napoleon’s self-confidence was being gradually worn down before he was even aware of it. Who could he talk to? He couldn’t talk about it to any of his colleagues – the partnership was held up as an example to aspiring agents: indestructible; close as brothers; Waverly’s ‘Golden boys’. He ought to talk to Illya, of course, but he couldn’t face being snapped at. It didn’t occur to him that Illya’s bitter carping might be a symptom of depression or his own loss of confidence.

Illya drove into the UNCLE garage and stopped. He was about to speak but Napoleon got out and walked away without a backward glance, leaving Illya looking after him doubtfully.

<><> 

At home, Illya found he had been reading the same page of his book for some time, not taking in a single word. He kept seeing Napoleon’s face after he’d made some savage and hurtful remark about a really very minor mishap.

I don’t know why I said that to him. He looked really upset – it wasn’t that bad, was it? I should maybe apologise… but that would just make it a bigger deal than it was, wouldn’t it? … He really looked upset. How stupid he is! He knows I don’t mean it.

He read the page again. What the hell was this damned book about? He shut it and laid his head back and groaned aloud.

He really annoys me sometimes. So full of bloated, misplaced self-confidence, even when he’s being a perfect fool about some girl. It’s dangerous… doesn’t he care? He swans around as if the whole of female creation belonged to him. People seem to like him for it…

I like him too…

How stupid…

… of me…

I wish…

He’s sick of me… I’m so stupid…

I’d better put in for a transfer … maybe before he asks for another partner.

<><><> 

 

Napoleon returned, bronzed and relaxed, in the mood to make a fresh start. He walked into his and Illya’s shared office and stopped in surprise. “Have the offices been changed?” he said to the man sitting behind Illya’s desk who rose and held out his hand.

“No, I don’t believe so. You must be Napoleon Solo – the name’s Mitchell, James Mitchell.”

Napoleon ignored the hand – he didn’t even see it. “Where’s Illya?”

“In London.” At Napoleon’s blank expression, he said, “On an agent exchange. Didn’t you know?”

Without a word, Napoleon turned and walked out again.

Waverly had been expecting him. “Yes, Mr Solo. We are trialling an exchange of agents. Mr Kuryakin suggested it and volunteered to be one of the first.”

“Suggested… But when? How did it happen so quickly? How long for?”

Waverly answered only the last question. “It’s a trial, so possibly six months, possibly a year.”

“Can’t we get him back?”

“No. Mr Mitchell will be your temporary partner.” Observing Napoleon’s expression, he added, “He’s good. They think very highly of him in London.”

“But, why?”

Not pretending to misunderstand, Waverly said, “You probably know that better than I do. Mr Kuryakin was very insistent that it would be a valuable experience.”

“For whom?”

“I assume he meant your new partner.”

Napoleon flung up his hands and the blue stone in his ring flashed. “You said he was good. So, what experience does he need?”

“He’s not a rookie – that would have been an unsuitable exchange for Mr Kuryakin – so we chose Mr Mitchell, who doesn’t have as much solid experience as you or your former partner. I’m sending you on a first mission together tomorrow. Be here early.”

 

_Tbc_


	2. Birds of a feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: wait, curve, red
> 
> The effect of Waverly's alternative

Napoleon found his unexpected new partner very easy to get on with. They had quickly fallen into a friendly relationship. James Mitchell was calm, quietly humorous, never lost his temper, never made snide remarks – well, it was early days, but he didn’t seem the type. Illya had _always_ made snide remarks right from the start.

Mitch, though he was never deferential in manner – in fact, he liked to be called Mitch because he thought ‘James’ made him sound like a footman – automatically deferred to his senior partner and never challenged his command of a situation (unlike Illya). Adrenaline levels stayed low; it was all surprisingly restful. Illya’s restless energy could be exhausting – he was always aware of everything around him, never at ease. It was quite a useful quality in some situations, of course, but Napoleon, forgetting that London was used to him, wondered how London headquarters would cope.

<><> 

At UNCLE’s London headquarters, Illya’s English colleagues were friendlier than they used to be, less standoffish, didn’t look down on him like they used to. Of course, he was older now and far more experienced. His reputation had preceded him and he was even regarded with awe by some.

He was to be put in charge of explosives training initially, so, after being reintroduced to the various sections, he went finally to the Lab to meet its head and the other staff.

“Charles, here, will show you everything,” said the Section Head, introducing a fair, sulky-looking young man. The group rapidly dispersed, leaving them together.

“I’d like to see what you have here in the way of equipment for field agents, first,” said Illya.

Charles looked resentfully at his new colleague. “I suppose you had everything you needed over _there_ ,” he said.

Illya smiled. “Nowhere has that,” he said. “So, what’s your job here?”

“I design stuff for the field agents.”

“Interesting. So do I. May I see some of it?”

Charles turned and marched off to a bench at the end of the room. Illya followed, saying, “Do you work with explosives, too?”

“Yes. I won’t be joining your class. I doubt if you could teach me anything.”

Slightly taken aback – Charles was much younger than himself – Illya remembered that he’d been just as young when he had first taught the subject. He bent over the bench to examine Charles’ current project. The parts of a communicator were spread over the bench.

“I see we’re working on the same problem,” he said after a moment. “Getting it to work one-handed. Maybe we should compare notes.”

Charles ignored this. “You wanted to see all the other equipment. It’s downstairs in the store.” And he marched off again, a small bundle of aggressive energy. Illya breathed in and followed.

Gary, in the store, was interested to show the full range of weapons and gadgets to an agent of Illya’s experience. “You’ll be used to much more variety, I know,” he said, “but, of course, our use of weapons in this country is governed by statute and there isn’t much call for sophistication.”

Charles rolled his eyes.

A good deal of the equipment duplicated things Illya was used to. “It’s a good range,” he commented. Gary was pleased but Charles sniffed audibly.

“Now, what sort of explosives do you have?” Illya asked.

“I’ll show you what we keep,” said Gary and went to find a list.

Illya turned to Charles. “There’s no need to wait,” he said. “I’m sure you have more important things to do. I can find my way when I’ve finished here.”

Charles sniffed again and left.

<><> 

Mitch called headquarters and dragged Napoleon’s semi-conscious and bleeding body into the car rather than waiting for backup. And tried to remember the way back. “Bear up, old chap,” he said over his shoulder. There was no reply.

When he did find Headquarters, which wasn’t that hard, he drove smartly into the garage and summoned assistance.

He was himself summoned to Waverly’s office where he was disarmingly honest in his account of what had happened. He didn’t know quite what had gone wrong. He’d followed Napoleon, keeping careful watch all around – but the threat had come from the front. The attacker lay dead by Mitch’s hand, but too late to prevent his firing at Napoleon. Waverly was severe. “One of my best agents is out of action because of your disastrous error of judgment. This isn’t the first mistake you have made, Mr Mitchell,” he said.

“Oh, but sir, those others were just little…”

“Rookie mistakes are unacceptable in one with even your relative inexperience, Mr Mitchell. Losing the man you were following; getting yourself locked in a restroom, were just two. This one is appalling. What, if anything, do you think you have learned while you’ve been here?”

Mitch was now red. “That’s a little unfair, sir. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve been very happy here.”

“I daresay, but I don’t think we can safely wait for you to acquire what it takes to make a Section Two agent, so I’m going to send you back to London. I imagine you will find yourself even happier in, say, Section Seven, there.”

<><><> 

Napoleon opened his eyes to dimmed lights and tried to focus on a shadowy figure sitting beside the bed. He saw the curve of someone’s cheek, gold lights gleaming in someone’s hair, someone very silent and still.

“Is that you?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Am I dying or something?”

“You’ve looked better, but you’re not dying as far as I know.”

“Why are you here then?”

“Someone needs to watch your back… Me, if you can bear it.”

“Well, I’ve kind of missed your unremitting criticism. Mitch was so goddam _polite_.”

“Mitch?”

“Your gentlemanly replacement… How was London?”

“I had to work with a pain in the ass called Charles. Very clever, but rude, surly…” there was a pause, “and … unremittingly critical, actually… Napoleon, I’m s...”

“You’re back. That’s all that matters, partner.”

He closed his eyes and was asleep before Illya could say any more.

<><><><> 


End file.
